I, like many, grew up with a heady nostalgia for historic art and architecture, with serendipity to be found on the walls of galleries and amongst neatly carved stones. Whilst I am not wholly prejudiced, more often than not, the older the building, painting or sculpture is, the better. For me, it has always been a closely held belief that the greater the age, the further the whispers of past civilisations had reached, and the more worthwhile listening to them became.
For this reason, I have always loved English medieval cathedrals and churches and the architectural playgrounds of Ancient Greece and Italy. In each case, the fabric of these monuments becomes a palimpsest of human experience. What better way to understand these people, who, like you or I, looked at the same frescos and walked the same corridors?
Whilst the written word of these periods is fickle - prone to biased interpretation, heavy-handed changes and, sometimes, downright lies - their artistic foundations can speak directly to the wants and wishes of these people long out of reach. Ultimately, for me, it is knowing that these fragments of Arcadia have survived the currents of time when we ourselves will not.
Whilst different periods of art and architecture fluctuate in their fashionable favour, these older epochs remain more exciting than ever. With a camera and a sturdy pair of walking shoes, I am often hither and thither, taking more photos than a person might need. Upon my return, I generously ply the products of various trips on unwilling family, friends and colleagues.
However, it has occurred to me that others might actually be interested in these historic fragments I collect. This Substack may fall on deaf ears - Mary Beard or Robin Lane Fox, I certainly am not - but I hope if anyone is reading, they might share this historical refuge with me.
